


Freudian Slip

by ApurricatingCat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Boys In Love, But like. in a good way., Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, First Time, He is Happy TM, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Student Credence Barebone, Top Credence Barebone, professor Graves, to a degree.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-27 07:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApurricatingCat/pseuds/ApurricatingCat
Summary: Credence is just trying to get his bachelors in Social Service. If only there had been some warning that his Intro to Sociology professor had also starred in one of his favorite porn videos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is barely even proofread, go easy on it.  
> I also don't write this sort of thing ever. This is ultra new ground for me. 
> 
> Anyway! It's pretty messy, but I just wanted to get it put up even though it's not super polished. Hope you enjoy!

Credence felt like he was punched in the stomach the moment his professor entered the classroom. Credence immediately regretted his choice to sit on the front row as he felt heat run to his face and fill his stomach as the professor scanned the room. Credence gripped tight to his pencil as dark eyes fleetingly met his own. Eyes that he was absolutely sure he knew, despite the age that was around them now and the glasses perched on his nose, they were the same. His eyebrows were the same too, thick, bushy. Fuck. Professor Graves had started speaking, but Credence couldn’t hear a word, his head was full of static, eyes wide and stuck on his professor. 

A professor he had jacked off to half a million times.

A professor he Owned a porn video of. An honest to god tape. The kind that needed a VCR. 

His Professor. The one pacing the space in front of him, gesticulating as he introduced himself and the course to the class. Credence couldn’t for the life of him remember what class he was sitting in right now.

And suddenly the class was laughing, and with a smile, Professor Graves loosened the knot of his tie with hands that made Credence’s mouth go dry. Whatever the joke was, he missed it, but Professor Graves tugged his tie loose and dropped it on his desk, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt. 

Credence thought that must absolutely be illegal and he pulled his notebook from the table into his lap. He couldn’t help it as his eyes dragged down from the bit of hair now visible over the top of his shirt to his waist, painfully aware that he Knew what the man looked like being fucked into a mattress, fucked against a wall—what he looked like with a dick in his mouth. Fuck it was really not the time. Credence had half a mind to excuse himself to the bathroom. 

Shit. He really needed to try and pay attention. He needed a passing grade—it was so hard to think of anything but the closeup on his professors face as he was getting—full stop, Credence. God almighty—Listen. Listen.

“Now, I’ve told you all a little about myself and a little about what we will be going over in the course. I’d like to pass the hypothetical baton on to you, now.” Professor Graves gave the class a charming grin. “So, if you’d please, let’s go around the room and make introductions as I take roll. If you go by something other than your legal name and didn’t email me prior; no need to put it out to the class, just come speak to me after so we can make sure you get marked present. Okay? Okay.” He pointed to a girl at the far right of the front row, “Tina, if you’d please start us off?”

Credence wanted to melt into the ground and disappear. How in the world had he landed in such a situation as this? It was humiliating—though of course, no one knew it but himself. Or perhaps it was all some big joke, or fantasy—yes, that must be it, he was asleep and conjuring up this scenario. 

Two people after Tina had introduced themselves and it was nearing Credence’s turn. He didn’t even know if he could manage to speak and he certainly couldn’t stand as the person next to him did when it came to be their turn. Oh God. He pressed the notebook harder against his lap and tried to convince himself that the flimsy pressure of the twenty-cent spiral-ring binder hurt and discouraged this behavior, rather than teased him with a pressure he wished he was feeling.

Eyes turned expectantly to him and Credence felt his stomach drop. He’d let his turn drag in silence and now he had even more attention than he might have had if he’d just stood up and gotten it over with. 

He just knew his face was bright crimson at best. He was probably going to pass out. He shakily got to his feet, white-knuckle grip on the poor notebook. “I’m—I’m Credence. Credence Barebone.” He said, voice pitched higher due to his absolute mortification. “I’m uh—I’m majoring in Social Services. I…have a cat.” He sank back down into his chair and ducked his head, painfully self-conscious, but class moved on, and Credence finally settled.

-

Credence was going to drop the class. He really was. 

He was considering it, at least. 

But , then again, he really did need the credit. Sociology is required for Social Work. 

And Graves had such a high rating, too. 

Maybe he was simply mistaken. Saw some resemblance and jumped to conclusions. 

He needed to watch the video, try and make sure. Right? Not because class had left him hard and on edge and Fantasizing about Teacher. No. No definitely not that.

Fantasizing about the man in the video? Well, he’d done that plenty. 

Could he fantasize about his teacher as a younger man and separate them from each other? 

Highly unlikely. 

Could he do that and keep his relationship with the professor completely professional?

Yes. That, Credence was sure he could do. Anyway, people have crushes on teachers all the time, right?

Well, at the very least, he knew he ought to get rid of the tape. He could keep jacking off to a video of his professor, no matter how mouthwateringly hot it was. It had to be like. Illegal. Somehow. He didn’t know how, but it felt very Bad. 

He took the stairs to his apartment two at a time, wrestling his keys from his pocket and untangling them from his cheap gas station counter headphones. A change in the temperature and the plastic was bound to crack—he made his way down the hall and in to his apartment, floor boards squeaking under his weight. He used his shoulder to push the door open; the wood work not quite aligned, making the door drag resistant you against the frame. 

Stashed away in a drawer at the end of his bed, wrapped in a thread-bare t-shirt, the black plastic of the video. Credence stared blankly at the nondescript tape. Wondered, what if someone were to find it? In the garbage? What if, what if, what if—every possible excuse, he knew was ridiculous and unlikely. Yet, he suddenly faced a choice he wasn’t ready for. He was rather attached to the tape. Maybe more than a little, if he was honest. 

He wouldn’t be able to be with his professor. That, he knew and accepted quickly, but maybe it wasn’t so bad to watch, to imagine? What’s the harm in a fantasy, so long as you keep it your own?

Credence gently tucked the wrapped tape back into the drawer and closed it with a soft thunk, dropping exhausted and torn onto his bed, guilt bubbling in his stomach. No harm in a fantasy. He repeated to himself, trying to convince himself that it was true.

Credence didn’t drop the class. And somehow it became both more bearable and more unbearable with every class. 

The ones Credence looked forward to the most were the days he’d turn in an essay and the days it was returned to him, the brush of fingers and the smile from Professor Graves meant solely for him. That brush pf skin left him feeling electric all day long. And he loved getting the essay returned for the same reason; though more so, because of how clear it was that Professor Graves had truly read the paper, careful notes written on post-it’s, noting the things he liked, what places worked well, praised Credence’s research and careful approach. 

These were rare days, only three essays the semester long, but Credence could hardly wait for the next one, as they passed by.

But even just being in the presence of Professor Graves and getting to watch him teach something he was obviously passionate about with a delicacy that helped lead the class to the proper conclusions, a bluntness that sometimes took Credence a back, stories that really made the different theories and principals of sociology stick in a way that was surprising. 

Before he knew it, his notebook was completely full of notes and stories told during the class and he was on to a second one, soon to be third. 

On occasion, he’d stop after class, ask questions about the lesson, seeking more information. The intensity with which Professor Graves pinned him made it hard to do it too often. The smile and enthusiasm that he spoke as he collected his things to leave, Credence taking in every single word. 

Professor Graves would clap him on the shoulder, squeeze a little, as they left the classroom to make room for the following classes. He’d express how pleased he was that someone enjoyed his class as much as Credence gushed that he did. They’d part.

It always, without fail, made Credence dizzy afterwards, unable to stop thinking of the heat of Professor Graves hand on his shoulder.

-

Finals. It was Finals. Credence could hardly believe he had made it. The semester had been draining. He practically had notecards falling from his pockets; though Tina had pressed rubber-bands onto him and Newt when she’d seen the mess they were trying to study with in the library. Those had helped. 

Finger’s tinged black with in from last minute studying, Credence hurried to Professor Graves classroom at the assigned time, pencils tight in hand as he took a deep breath. It wasn’t that the class was hard, necessarily. Credence thoroughly enjoyed it, ogling Professor Graves aside, even. It was one of the most interesting classes he had taken yet. He was truthfully and thoroughly looking forward to taking the next level of class—but there was so much material and so many names, and theories, and ideologies, social structures—he took another deep breath and closed his hand around the knob. He had studied, hard. He knew every name, every theory, on the note cards. He’d been meticulous. He knew this. He turned the doorknob and slipped into the classroom.

“Credence, might I see you after class?” Credence’s heart stopped in his chest and he looked wide-eyed up at Professor Graves, sitting with a lazy elegance behind his desk, relaxed back against the leather rolly-chair, arms on the arms rests, thighs splayed, obscene—stop. “Nothing bad.” He reassured, at Credence’s lack of immediate response, sitting up a little straighter, a flash of concern. Credence swallowed hard, eyes dragging, a moment, at the tug of a button, showing a patch of skin lower on Professor Graves chest. Oh God.

“O-of course, Professor.” He stammered out, finally, hurrying from the doorway and to his seat, panicking to his very core. 

Whatever for? He had to know—somehow? That had to be it. Professor Graves somehow knew about Credence’s filthy secret, maybe even that just the night before, he’d shamefully watched the tape again—oh god.

A soft rumble of amusement came from Professor Graves direction and Credence looked up. The man raised a packet in his direction, “Would you like your final, Credence?” Oh God. Credence wanted to die.

He scrambled up, flushing in embarrassment at the thought that anyone in the room Might be looking in his direction.

-

Percival tucked the stack of tests into a thick filing folder; not the flimsy plastic kind that Credence might have bought for himself to try and stay organized. This one was thick, glossy leather. Professor Graves deserved nothing less than the sleekest, Credence thought. Of course, the man would own something as nice as a leather-bound accordion folder. Professor Graves looked up and smiled at him from across his desk, eyes crinkling at the corners. Credence’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Credence.” He stood up, slinging his jacket over an arm after collecting the last of his things from the desk. “My office is just upstairs, no need to go out in the snow yet.” He assured, leading Credence from the classroom.

Credence made a noise of affirmation and nervously followed Professor Graves to his office, painfully aware of his scuffed converse, worn jeans—his hair was probably a mess. Professor Graves was so put together. Credence had never considered being alone in an office with him, at least not under professional circumstances. He wished, quite suddenly, that he had put more into his appearance than he had that morning.

Professor Graves pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the glossy wooden door into his office. He pulled a chair from against the wall up in front of his desk and gestured for Credence to sit down, making his way to the other side and sinking down into his own chair. He linked his fingers together and rested his chin on his fingers, looking at Credence with an intensity that made Credence tremble as he sank into the chair that had been pulled up for him.

“Credence…” Professor Graves hummed, looking at him with heavy contemplation that made Credence shift nervously in his chair, twist at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Yes, Professor?” Credence asked softly, pinned beneath Percival’s gaze, eyes wide. Part of him felt like he was going to cry, and he hung onto the promise that this meeting was, _’nothing bad.’_

“You are intriguing.” He said finally, sinking back into his chair and smiling softly at Credence. “I’ve never had a student work quite as hard as you in my class, nor pass with such marks.”

Credence opened his mouth to point out that his final was waiting to be graded, but Graves cut him off with a knowing smile and a raised finger before he could.  
“Ah—if you missed anything on the final; that you were not required to attend, may I note,” he said, finger at his lips as if to keep Credence from arguing with him, “I’m certain it’d be due to a typo or mis-asked question on my part.” 

“No—certainly not, sir,” Credence gasped, flushed from the praise. He gripped the edge of Professor Graves desk, “You’re brilliant, to know all of this and not even keep a textbook on you.” He breathed out, eyes wide and earnest.

Percival’s smile softened, fond, “Dear Credence,” he mused, “You are very kind.” He looked a little amused a moment, “Humor me, Credence?” Credence nodded, still stuck on the word dear, in all honesty. Dear Credence. _Dear Credence._

“Do you know the year that Anna Julia Cooper published her first book, Credence?” 

A beat, as Credence focused on the question and thought about the lady in question.

“Of course, 1892, sir.” He said quietly, cheeks pink.

“Of course?” Percival asked, resting his chin on his hand and peering at Credence, expression indescribably fond, “That is not something that I know. Miss Cooper, is indeed, rather overlooked in this course, barely mentioned, hardly mentioned alongside the other older female sociologists. And, you know, I never ask for years. Yet, you learned that anyways, despite the fact that it’s not something that would never come up on a test, or even in class.”

Credence flushed and ducked his head. “She…she was interesting. Incredible, even. I think she should be mentioned more often.”

“I quite agree, Credence.” Percival agreed, “I’m afraid I do not get quite as much say as I would like in what needs to be covered in this course.” He paused, “But do you understand what I am saying, in asking you this?”

Credence peeked up at Graves from behind his bangs, hesitant, “Sir?”

“You’re an exceptional student, Mister Barebone, and I was thoroughly impressed by you in every class. This is something I felt you should know.” Percival said gently, “You go above and beyond expectations at every turn; learning so much and then helping your classmates who struggled until they understood the material. Truly, impressive ethic, Credence.”

Credence didn’t know how to respond to that at all. He was taken aback, flattered, embarrassed? Pleased—Professor Graves spoke of him so highly. It filled his chest with butterflies. “Th-Thank you, Professor Graves.” He managed, messing with his hair, a nervous tic. “It means a lot that you’d think so highly of me. I’m trying to work hard.”

“Well, Credence.” Percival said, voice serious, “You’re succeeding, and I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished in my class.”

“Thank you, sir.” Credence whispered. He just knew that his face was on fire. The praise was making his far too aware of his pants getting tighter. What incredibly unfortunate timing, sitting across from the person of his affection and absolutely unable to act upon it. Credence’s mind kept trying to wander to those things. 

How he wanted to sink beneath Professor Graves desk and sit between his knees, mouth open and pliant with the man in his mouth, to be used for pleasure, or to simply be there—Credence just wanted to taste. Maybe Professor Graves would want to taste him too. Credence could imagine pushing his fingers into his slicked-back hair; had fantasized about the drag of stubble against his thighs—enough. Professor Graves was being so kind; Credence felt shame bubble in his throat. Guilty. 

“Now, if the thought appalls you, please know I take no offense—” Graves began, interrupting the trail of thoughts. “I find you intriguing, Credence, and I’m interested; in a sociological manner, about you and your life. Would you mind discussing it with me?”

Credence looked up, brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing a few times, trying to process the request, “Y-yes? I mean; no—I wouldn’t mind, Professor, but…why?” What sort of request was that? Credence’s mind immediately jumped to what he _wanted_ it to be. A proposition, stated so properly due to their location. But that was utterly ridiculous. 

“You’re different. You’ve lived a different sort of life than many of the students here. I’m simply a curious sociologist. I hope that doesn’t sound horribly offensive. It’s a strange request, I know.” He laughed in a self-depricating way that Credence knew intimately. “Please, do not feel pressured to agree simply because I’m your professor. In this, we are equals.”

Credence swallowed, hard and nodded slowly. “I…I’d like to talk with you, Professor.” He said softly, proud at the way his voice managed not to crack.

“It can be led entirely by you, or I can ask questions.” Percival said, meeting Credence’s eyes, “Nothing you’re not comfortable discussing.”

Credence nodded, wide-eyed at Percival. “Okay.” He replied. He felt like he was out of breath. 

Percival reached forward and Credence’s breath caught in his throat. He plucked a business card with his university information printed neatly on the front. He flipped it over, writing in elegant black ink on the back of the card. 

“Here is my cell, Credence. Once I’ve finished grading all these tests and get grades finalized, I would love to meet with you; and please, feel free to contact me if you ever need to talk.” He smiled and stood up, walking around his desk to meet Credence at the door, pressing the card into his hand and shaking it firmly, resting a hand on Credence’s shoulder. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, I look forward to hearing from you.”

Credence felt like he was floating; the heavy warm heat of Professor Graves hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him on the ground. He heard himself say thank you and bid his professor goodbye, more than recognized doing it himself. 

Credence was floating all day, the phantom memory of that heavy hand on his shoulder and the smell of Graves cologne; how easy it might have been to close the distance between them. All he’d have had to do was lean forward and he could have pressed their mouths together; felt more skin than the brush of hands. He could almost imagine the drag of stubble against his skin as they kissed. 

He wondered if Professor Graves would have pulled Credence back into his office; closed the door. Credence wanted to sink to his knees like he’d seen Professor Graves do in the video so many times. Credence just wanted to get home. 

Somehow, Credence found the courage to text him before bed. Even if Professor Graves hadn’t meant anything more by it, Credence thought he might like to spend time around him anyway.

_’Hello, Professor Graves! This is Credence Barebone. Let me know when you’d like to meet!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: That convo with Professor Graves happened to me in real life. I work for him now and I still don't know if he is trying to sleep with me. (My answer would have to be a pretty hard No Thank You. But Credence is lucky and Professor Graves is Hot.)
> 
> Next chapter has some drama and some sex! 
> 
> Also, if you're going to bash this somewhere publicly, my pronouns are he/him, thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Graves asked Credence to meet. Credence desperately wants it to be something more than he suspects it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not write The Sex very often At All. So this was pretty new for me. I hope you enjoy it!

It was a few weeks before Professor Graves texted him back with a solid plan and an apology for the time it had taken him to respond. The weather had finally picked up, almost regular for the season. So, when Credence started the commute to campus, he found himself trekking through shin deep snow in his converse. He was quite unprepared for the season.

He huddled in his coat, and walked quickly from the bus stop towards the school, finding his way to the building Professor Graves worked in. The snow was falling thick, heavy, and wet. Heavy flakes of it catching in his hair and sticking stubbornly to his coat and jeans. Not even to mention his shoes, which were already soaked through from his apartment to the bus stop alone. He was nearly resigned to the fact that his shoes and feet would never recover from this excursion and would stay freezing and soaked through forever.

By the time Credence was able to take cover in the foyer, shivering quite badly, he felt miserably drenched. That he was going to be having dinner with Professor Graves was the only thing keeping him from begging Tina to come pick him up and take him back home. Dinner with Professor Graves. The thought made him feel a little giddy. Nervous, but excited, nonetheless. 

The sound of steps hurrying down the stairs caught Credence’s attention and he couldn’t keep the smile from breaking across his face at the sight of Professor Graves hurrying down the stairs. He was bundled in a coat and scarf, briefcase in one hand, shoulder-bag slung over the other. He was wearing snow boots, which really had no right to look okay on anyone. But on Professor Graves, Credence thought anything, nay everything, must look good. He felt weak in the knees from this look and the only skin he could see was his face.

“Credence!” He greeted. His scarf had ridden up a little, covering his chin and mouth, but he tugged it down when he came to a stop by Credence, revealing a smile while he adjusted his bags. And, oh dear, that smile. Credence could swoon.

“Professor.” Credence greeted softly, reaching out to take one of the bags. Professor Graves gratefully released the briefcase to him.

“Thank you—You could have asked me to pick you up, I didn’t realize the weather would be so horrid. I should have texted to reschedule.” He apologized, “you must be freezing.” He reached out and brushed snow that was somewhere between sleet and water from melting, off Credence’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry.”

Credence swallowed hard, distracted by the nearness of his professor. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He was used to worse. 

“Well, lets get you warmed up. My car is just across the lot.” Credence was helpless but to follow.

The heater roared loudly, music playing just loud enough to be heard over the sound of it. Credence sank into the leather seat and looked over at Professor Graves, settling as the warm blast of air thawed his shoes and warmed his fingers. 

“I find myself bordering on losing quite a bit of my groceries for the week, would you mind terribly if we dined and spoke at my house? Only if that is something that you’re comfortable with, of course. I don’t mind eating out either.” They were slowly pulling out of the parking lot. The wipers squeaked as they moved snow off the windshield every few seconds. 

“No that’s okay.” Credence said, perhaps a little too quickly, “Your house is fine—that’s…that’s really generous, Professor, thank you.” He said. His face was red from the cold, red from thawing, red from embarrassment. He doubted if he’d ever be free of it. He fidgeted in his seat, jeans went and plastered to his thighs. “I’m sorry, I’m getting your seats wet, professor.” He said softly.

Percival looked his way a second, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Credence. It’ll dry.”

That didn’t do much to soothe Credence’s worries about destroying the fancy leather seats, but he didn’t say any more about it.

It was not a long drive to Professor Graves home, though, according to Graves, the snow made it longer. Credence didn’t think he’d mind if it took hours. The air was warm, and Professor Graves had flipped on a seat warmer for him. Credence felt like he could be content to sit in the warmth and watch Professor Graves drive for ages and never mind it. Not even with wet socks and jeans. 

They parked along the curb in front of an apartment building far fancier than the ones Credence was usually around, which wasn’t the least bit surprising. He dreaded getting out into the snow again, the snow had gotten heavier since they’d left. 

Professor Graves smiled over at him as he grabbed one of his bags from the back seat, “This is it.” He said, getting out of the car. Credence was quick to follow.

As the snow clung to his hair and whipped around his face with the wind, Credence spared a thought to getting home. He was quickly distracted from the horrid idea when they got inside the building, looking around. Percival led the way up a flight of stairs, and then another, apologizing for the trek. And then they were in his apartment. Credence was in Professor Graves apartment. The thought made him dizzy.

Percival shrugged out of his suit coat, beads of water on the thick wool, melted from the snow, fell to the floor. Credence followed the path of them and felt very much like he could relate as they sank into the rug in the entry way. 

Professor Graves was hanging up the dark blue coat and scarf, loosening and dropping his tie, what Credence could imagine had to be silk, on the small side table alongside his wallet and keys. It was as he was slipping out of his shoes that Percival looked towards Credence, brows furrowing with what could be read only as concern, a crease of worry between his thick brows— 

“Credence, are you alright? You didn’t have to accept my invitation if it made you uncomfortable. I can take you back home if you’d rather not have dinner. You don’t have to be polite simply because I requested to speak with you, I’ll take no offense.” Percival spoke like he was soothing a spooked animal, trying to coax it out from beneath his car, voice low and soft. 

Credence couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it would feel like if Professor Graves spoke like that against his ear, how hot his breath would feel, maybe his lips wet from kissing? Credence ducked his head and bent to untie his shoes.

“No—no, sorry, professor. Dinner with you sounds wonderful. I…I really appreciate the offer.” And his stomach had the audacity to growl loudly in the middle of Professor Graves beautiful entry way to announce his verdict a true one.

Credence was mortified, but Percival just chuckled, soft and amused. Credence stole a worried glance up at him. Professor Graves didn’t look like he was judging Credence in the slightest, which Credence took slight relief from. He peeled off his socks so as to not track water into the house and straightened up. 

“Well, good, I’m glad to hear that. If you, at any point, would prefer I take you home or call you a taxi, please, don’t hesitate. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m not.” Credence said softly, shrugging off his backpack and his worn coat, leaving them by his shoes and socks.

“You can just call me Percival, if you’d like. No need for such formalities here, Mister Barebone.” Professor Graves teased. 

Credence swallowed hard and fleetingly met Percival’s gaze, “Okay…Percival.” He said, testing the name, feeling a bit giddy at how it felt to do so. Percival beamed at him in return, it made Credence’s heart pound to be looked at that way. 

“Thank you, Credence.” Percival said. Credence returned Percival’s smile, unable to help feeling a flutter of joy from the attention. “You’re welcome to make yourself at home while I cook dinner.” Percival said, he looked Credence over, “Here, I’ll get you a pair of sweatpants to wear, we can throw your things in the dryer, if you’d like.” 

Before Credence could protest that it was okay, he really didn’t need to, Percival was already collecting Credence’s soaked coat and socks; he didn’t even seem to mind. Credence felt dizzy, mouth open, frozen in his silent protest as he watch Percival nudge his shoes over the air vent.

“So that they can start to dry out.” He said in explanation. Credence mutely nodded, closing his mouth and trying not to pay attention to just how close Professor Graves was to him, managing to only pay attention to that. Then he was moving away, and Credence trailed after him, barely taking in a word as he followed Professor Gr—right, Percival, down a short hallway. 

They paused a moment. Percival opened a door to a small closet and deposited the wet clothes into the dryer. Credence marveled momentarily at the idea of not having to go down several floors to the communal washroom before Percival was moving again. Credence realized, to his bedroom.

“Once you change you can toss your jeans in as well, just press start, okay?” Percival was speaking, and Credence did his best to force himself to stop ogling. Percival pulled a pair of soft looking sweatpants from a drawer and handed them to Credence. “They might be a bit loose on you.” He apologized, “Hopefully the string can make up for it.” He smiled. “I’ll be in the kitchen, Credence, it’s just back the way we came and straight from the entry way.”

Credence nodded mutely before forcing himself to speak, “Thank you, Prof—Percival.” This earned him a smile that made Credence want to melt.

\---

The sight of Percival when Credence returned made his mouth go dry. He’d folded his sleeves up over his elbows, his shirt was unbuttoned several buttons down, white undershirt visible. Credence hadn’t noticed before, but Percival’s socks were patterned, animals? Fruit? He couldn’t quite tell. Watching him slicing vegetables in socked feet, humming softly along with a song playing from a speaker, Credence felt overwhelmingly special. How many people could say they’d seen the well put-together professor this way, minutely moving in tune to the music, so unguarded in his kitchen, making them dinner? Professor Percival Graves was making _him_ dinner. Credence could swoon. 

“Can I help?” Credence finally asked, after observing for far longer than he felt was appropriate. He hated feeling like he was taking advantage somehow, but it was such a mesmerizing sight.

Percival looked at him over his shoulder and smiled, “Credence.” He greeted, “You don’t need to help, I’m the one who invited you for dinner.”

“I’d like to.” Credence argued softly, “If you wouldn’t mind it?” Percival looked hesitant for a moment; Credence could see the moment he decided to give in to the request on his handsome face. 

“After you wash your hands, you can finish chopping these, if you’d like, I can get the pasta started in the meantime.” He relented, shifting aside as Credence came over to join him at the counter, passing off the knife to clean hands. 

Credence liked being able to focus on something this way, liked to feel helpful and busy. He carefully sliced through the last of the vegetables while Percival worked at the stove, humming along with the music. Every so often a note was off-tune. It made Credence smile; Percival didn’t seem to notice or mind his mistake. 

Together, they put the vegetables onto a few baking trays, and Credence softly voiced that it was far too much food for just the two of them. To which Percival easily replied, “Perfect for snacking on throughout the week.” Credence couldn’t argue with that. 

He drizzled oil and vinegar over the vegetables on each tray, then watched as Percival put various herbs and spices over them after he’d finished. Trays in the over and pasta finishing, Credence sat at the kitchen table to wait. Percival joined him shortly after, setting places for them, cloth napkins and all. 

“I rarely have a reason to pull these out.” He sounded almost sheepish when he noticed Credence watching him. “Figured this was a good excuse to use them.” 

“It’s very nice.” Credence replied softly, feeling his blush return. It all felt too nice for him.

Percival smiled, looking pleased. The beep of the oven timer returned him behind the counter, dishing up the vegetables and pasta into serving bowls.

It had been a long time since Credence had eaten fresh food. He’d tried to, at first, but had quickly found his wallet didn’t approve of the idea. Most days, it was ramen. His mouth had already been watering at the thought, but with the smell of the baking vegetables, he was more than eager.

Dishes in hand, Percival sank into the chair across from Credence and set the bowls between them so that they could dish their food. Credence appreciated that he could choose for himself how much he ought to eat, that he didn’t have to worry about seeming ungrateful or he didn’t like Percival’s cooking if he couldn’t stomach as much as the man deemed ‘normal’.

When they began eating, Percival broke the comfortable quiet that had settled over them. “May I ask you some questions, Credence?” Percival asked, “If it’s something you’d rather not talk about you can skip it.”

Credence hesitated a moment, looking at Percival for a few long seconds before nodding and clearing his throat, gingerly wiping his mouth on the napkin. He’d almost forgotten why he was here, so caught up in how easy and natural it felt to be with Percival in the kitchen. “What would you like to know.” He asked, adjusting on the chair, crossing his legs beneath him and worrying his lip slightly, eyes on his plate.

Percival started the questions off normally rather than going straight to the heart of it as Credence had expected him to, he found himself relaxing as he chatted easily about school and friends. Homework, what he wanted to do, why he wanted to do it. And in return, Percival answered the same questions about himself. It was perfectly natural, amiable. Credence hadn’t spoken so much at one time maybe ever, and it felt okay. 

They didn’t go into his childhood as he’d expected, staying on easier topics, even when he told Percival that he wanted to become a social worker to help kids who had gone through similar treatment that he’d gone through growing up. He wasn’t pressed to explain more than he was ready to. For this, he was incredibly grateful.

They chatted a long while, moving to the couch when they’d finished eating. It was late by the time they were through. Percival boxed up the leftovers and forced half of them on Credence, “You helped make it, it’s only right you have some.” He insisted, and then he’d insisted on driving Credence home as well.

“I’d like to meet again, if you wouldn’t mind spending more time with an old man like me.” Percival said as Credence prepared to get out of the car to go into his apartment. It almost sounded too good to be true. Percival had enjoyed dinner enough to want to do it again? Credence beamed at him.

“I would like that, Percival. Thank you—” he said, breathless.

Percival smiled back. “I’ll text you then. Goodnight, Credence.”

\---

The issue of The Video was recurring for Credence. 

He enjoyed his meetings with Percival so much, he feared losing them over it. But he couldn’t stand feeling like he was lying. That Credence owned a video of the man, that he knew, well, Percival deserved to know. If Percival would be uncomfortable knowing that Credence had seen him, he had every right to not have Credence around. He had a right to know and make that choice for his own, right? It was nerve-wracking to even think about. Credence didn’t know what made him more nervous.

“I’ve seen a video of you.” Credence blurted out, grip tight on his fork.

Percival slowed, mouth open and waiting for the next bite, frozen in time as he took in the information. “…I see.” He said eventually, slow, gauging.

Credence didn’t know what that response entailed. He didn’t know if it was good or bad. He couldn’t tell from the way that Percival was looking at him either. His breathing sped up a little, heart pounding.

“I’m sorry. I should have dropped your class. It’s inappropriate for me to be here—I’m sorry I put you in this situation, Professor.” He burst, rambling in his guilt and anxiety over the situation. “I was going to but… but after the first class I—I wanted to keep taking it. I wanted to learn from you—”

“I’ve always known there’d be a good chance some of my students had managed to stumble across that.” Percival interrupted him gently. He sounded more amused than angry, as Credence had feared him to. “I hope you don’t think lesser of me for a choice I made when I was young.”

“No!” Credence said urgently, “No, not at all, Percival—” quite the contrary—but he couldn’t say that. 

To this, Percival smiled. Credence could see his shoulder relax, “I appreciate that, Credence.” He said. “Well, I’ll admit, I’m rather embarrassed that you had to see that, but if you truly don’t mind a young man’s mistake, I’d enjoy it if we continued to meet?”

Credence breathily laughed aloud in relief, immediately feeling embarrassed by the outburst. He covered his face a moment before smiling at Percival. There was a faint blush on his face, an uncertainty. It didn’t belong there. “Yes. I want to, please.” Credence said, watching as the nervousness melted away from Percival’s face. It was in that moment that Credence realized how bad he had it for Percival. What he felt was far more than simple attraction. He knew that for certain, now.

They continued to meet, reassured that they didn’t think differently of each other after Credence’s admission. Nearly once a week, they met, sometimes at Professor Graves house, sometimes at a restaurant. Percival always insisted on paying for Credence and often on driving him home as well, insisting that Credence was here for his benefit and that he wasn’t going to let Credence pay because of his interest in learning more about him. 

“Sociological Interest.” Credence always reminded himself stubbornly. “Sociological Interest, not Personal.” But it often felt personal, perched on Percival’s couch and chatting like friends about their week. Percival would complain about the administration or about students who wouldn’t pay attention. Credence complained about homework, and Percival was more than willing, maybe even eager, to help Credence with what he could. 

Sometimes after dinner, Percival would invite Credence to hang around, “I’ll put on a movie, make some popcorn. I enjoy your company, Credence.”

Credence never knew how to feel about this. Hopeful? Weird? He enjoyed Percival’s company as well. That was for certain. It was one of the things he most looked forward to in his week. He looked forward to it whether all Percival could fit in was a quick cup of coffee and a chat, or if he let Credence help him in the kitchen, explaining techniques that were far fancier than Credence had ever used, let alone knew existed.

Something in his heart loved it when Percival invited him to hang around for a movie, but part of him hated it. He didn’t want Percival to pity him. He didn’t want pity for things that had happened to him once, nor did he want it now. Loathe the idea that Percival saw him as some sort of lonely, tragic charity case. 

Percival looked taken aback, when after some weeks of meeting together Credence said as much.

“What? Credence—no, of course not.” He set down his gradebook and papers on the side table, his lovely reading glasses following after, resting on top of the stack. 

Credence wanted to swallow his own damn tongue, going cold and nervous, shoulders stiff. Percival muted the tv and sat down on the coffee table in front of where Credence perched on the couch. He looked up at him, brows furrowed and heavy, fingers laced. Over them, a heavy silence hung. Credence swallowed hard, fighting with his own emotions to hear Percival out and not just leave as he itched to.

“Credence…” Percival said softly. It had only been a few moments, but to Credence it had felt like hours stretching on and on. “I’m so sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. That was never my intention. I enjoy your company, and I’ve enjoyed spending time getting to know you better.” He smiled a little, ducked his head, looking a touch embarrassed before looking back up at Credence, “I consider you a friend, Credence.”

Credence’s eyes went wide, torn between flattery and disbelief. “Really?” he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Percival smiled warmly at him. “Yes, very much, Credence. Is that alright by you?” 

Credence wanted desperately to kiss him. He was so close. It wouldn’t take much. Credence’s eyes fell to Percival’s mouth and he swallowed hard. “Yes.” He said, feeling a little like he was drowning. “I…you’re my friend too, Percival.” He said, meeting his eyes again. Credence thought Percy had a bit of a strange look on his face, but when he tried to reassess it, it was gone, replaced with a fond smile.

Percival pushed himself to his feet and squeezed Credence’s shoulder affectionately. “If I ever do anything to make you feel uncomfortable or unhappy, please, tell me, Credence. That’s something I’d like to amend it.”

Credence had, for a long time, struggled to trust the words of anyone.

He believed Percival completely.

With that trust, Credence felt safe enough to comfortably talk about his childhood. Percival had been outraged, though, for Credence’s sake he’d refrained from seeming too angry. When he’d taken Credence home that evening, he’d gotten out of the car and hugged him goodbye. A fervent, “You didn’t deserve any of what you went through. I’m so proud of you.” 

Credence hadn’t realized that he was taller than Percival until that hug. The man had always seemed so Large to him. Credence rode the high of it for days, desperately clinging to the memory of Percival’s arms around him and his chin against Credence’s shoulder. 

He spoke of sexuality and gender some weeks later, expressing his wariness of them; how he’d been made to fear being different for so long that it was hard to feel safe in it. Talking to Percival was so helpful, and when the man responded with some of his own similar fears when he’d been younger, Credence had never felt more understood, more seen. He could piece together things that, despite living incredibly different lives, they’d both felt, both understood. 

It was a wonderful sort of torment being around Percival. Credence felt like he was teasing himself endlessly with the idea that they domesticity between them was more; could be more. Credence wanted very much to be more. He feared ruining the friendship far more.

\---

How long they’d been meeting, Credence no longer knew off the top of his head, no longer felt the need to keep track of it. It was winter again, so nearly a year, maybe longer. 

They’d started meeting more frequently. Credence had found himself eating dinner at Percival’s at least half the week. He helped grade papers, helped make dinner, lazed about Percival’s apartment. He thought he might spend more time there than at his own apartment.

And then it was just so easy. They were working together in Percival’s kitchen and Percival was singing along to whatever song was playing. Credence only knew the chorus, and the way Percival looked at him when he joined in was more than Credence knew what to do with. The space suddenly felt so much smaller and Percival was so close to him. Credence didn’t know who had closed the distance. He didn’t remember moving to do so. 

He leaned in. He felt like he was watching himself from far away, but when his lips were on Percival’s he was back, entirely present, hands landing gently on Percival’s face, and then his hair, unpracticed in what he was doing, but sure.

Percival was kissing him back, but it was hardly the reciprocation that Credence had hoped for. He seemed to simply be allowing Credence to do as he pleased, needy fingers in the man’s silvering hair— “Do you not want…?” Credence asked, pulling away, looking far more nervous than he had when he’d initiated the kiss. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I should have asked and made sure—” he was verging on panicked.

Percival took a moment to collect himself, opening his eyes slowly, mouth still slightly open from the kiss. He cleared his throat and met Credence’s anxious gaze. “No, it’s…It’s alright, Credence. It just…I…fear I’m taking advantage…” he said, seemingly at a loss for words. He looked a little dazed.

Credence relaxed, and almost as quickly, his expression steeled with determination and he grabbed Percival’s hand from where it had been hovering over his forearm, as if Percival had been warring over whether or not he should touch. He drew it down between his legs and pressed himself against Percival’s hand, growing hard in his jeans from the kiss alone.

“You’re not taking advantage, I want this.” Credence forced out, meeting Percival’s gaze, blush high and ruddy on his cheeks. “I’ve wanted this a long time.” He said, surprised with himself at being so bold. “Do you want it too, Percy?” He felt so vulnerable, entirely laid bare.

Percival exhaled sharply, Credence could feel it against his mouth, still so near. And then Percival was kissing him, really kissing him. Credence’s relief was dizzying. He grabbed onto Percival’s shirt and desperately kissed back. He was eager and needy as he pushed Percival gently, walking them from the kitchen back towards the couch. Percival groaned as he sank down onto the couch, and Credence was quick to follow, sinking onto Percy’s lap.

They kissed like that a while, and Percival eventually adjusted them, laying back on the couch with Credence on top of him. Credence found that to be so much better. 

Credence kissed him again, panting “Percy can I—”

“Anything you want, Credence.” Percival breathed, eyes dark as he looked adoringly up at Credence. It was still light outside, but the light from the window wasn’t enough to keep Percy’s eyes light golden brown, not with Credence on him.

Credence moaned and pressed his forehead against Percival’s, grinding his hips down against him. “In the video—that man he…” he swallowed, words catching.

“Fucked me.” Percival finished against Credence’s mouth. “Do you want to do that, Credence?”  
Credence whined, a shudder rolled through him. “You’d… do you want me to? To do that?” he panted, rocking his hips again. His grip on Percival’s arms was near bruising, hands shaking along with the rest of him.

“I’d quite like it if you would.” Percival replied. He’d moved his mouth to Credence’s neck, was mouthing at his jaw. Credence could feel the drag of stubble against his throat. He delighted in it. Had dreamt of it so often.

Credence swayed and turned Percy’s face to kiss him, teeth hitting together in his desperation, “Oh, God, yes—I, I’d like to. No, I’d love to, Percival—” Percy was smiling against his mouth. He pushed his fingers up through Credence’s hair, nails dragging against his scalp. Credence wasn’t sure he had ever felt so Present, in a moment. He’d never felt so focused on as he did now. The weight of Percival’s attention tethering him to the ground when he might have been able to simply float away. 

“You’ve imagined taking me, Credence?” Percival breathed between them, foreheads pressed together again, lips nearly brushing. 

“Yes.” Credence admitted softly, flushed. He tilted his chin up and kissed Percival. “I’ve imagined you in me too. I’ve put—” he broke off, embarrassed at saying so much.

“Hmm?” Percival prompted, pressing up against Credence. “You’ve what?”

Credence shuddered, trembling with a moan. “put my fingers in myself, imagined it was you, Professor.” Percival groaned, loud and ragged. Credence forced his eyes open, expression hazy. He breathed a laugh when Percival met his gaze and kissed him again. “Professor.” He breathed against his mouth, teasing. 

“I think my bedroom might be more accommodating, as much as I hate to move.” Percival breathed, sounding as wrecked and eager as Credence felt.

Credence didn’t want to move either. He didn’t mind staying on the couch, really. He was too elated on the fact that he had Percival beneath him to care about much else. He made a noise of complaint as Percival nudged him off, and the man had the nerve to laugh! Credence scowled, pouting as he let himself be moved. This only made Percival laugh harder.

“Doesn’t it sound so much better to do this in my bed?” He teased, linking his fingers with Credence’s as he stood. “And then we could stay there a while, not have to worry about falling on the floor…” He drew Credence by the hand towards the hallway, looking amused and adoring.

Credence knew he had a point, but…still. He couldn’t keep the faux unhappiness up for more than a few seconds longer before he felt himself smiling again, moving after Percival and eagerly kissing him again, hand falling to his hip as he let Percival lead them the rest of the way to his bedroom. 

Percival broke the kiss to get onto his bed, watching Credence with more affection that Credence could have imagined to be possible. Credence stared, jaw slack, as Percival tugged off his shirt and started on his pants. Credence couldn’t have that. He hurried to join Percival, and pushed his hands away, undoing the zip himself. Percival laughed breathily and leaned back against the pillows, lifting his hips to allow Credence to tug his jeans down, and then off, underthings off with them.

Credence jolted forwards, mouth on Percival’s again, heady with need, arousal rolling off him. His hand was trembling as he took hold of Percival, exploratory and hesitant.

Percival smiled into the kiss, his fingers pressed into Credence’s hair and Credence moaned, stroking Percival as best he could, though the angle was quite awkward, and the dry drag of his skin couldn’t have been comfortable.

“I’m glad it pleases you.” Percival panted against Credence’s mouth.

Credence groaned and bit Percival’s lip, trembling. He let go and reached down to undo his pants, looking wrecked though they’d barely started.

“Hey now.” Percival breathed, “You get to do mine and I don’t get to do yours? That’s hardly fair.” 

Credence looked up at him, eyes wide. “You—” he swallowed hard and started again, “You want to?” he rasped. Percival cupped his cheek affectionately and moved away, only to press Credence down onto the bed. 

Credence went willingly, eyes wide and locked on Percival. He pressed his hands beneath Credence’s shirt, dragging it up, and off. Credence shut his eyes, embarrassment rolling over him as Percival sat back to look at him. 

“Gorgeous—” the word surprised Credence. Of all the words he’d ever thought of himself, gorgeous had never been one. He forced himself to look back up at Percival, a shock of arousal rolling through him from how he was being looked at. Like he was something to be treasured, adored—and then Percival was leaning down, kissing Credence’s throat, his shoulders, his chest. The drag of stubble was divine and made Credence shake, breathing hard. He held onto the sheets beneath him to try and stay grounded when Percival started sucking a mark against his ribs. He could have sworn he was seeing stars.

His head felt like it was full of cotton, everything in him focused on Percy’s heavy hands and his mouth, hot and insistent against his skin. Everything narrowed abruptly farther when Percival’s hands moved and started on his pants, making quick work of the button and zipper before pulling them quickly down. Credence keened.

Percival kissed his knees, his thigh’s, his hips. Credence couldn’t watch any of it. It was too much already and he didn’t think he could—Percival’s mouth moved, the slow drag of a tongue against his length, and Credence heard himself crying loudly, hands flying to Percival’s hair, torn between more, more, more and—“I won’t be able to—I’m too close—” He choked out, pushing Percival away, thighs trembling in Percival’s grasp. 

Percival looked a right mess, hair in disarray, mouth obscenely red, face flushed. He looked like he was going to argue, but after a moment he relented and moved back over Credence, kissing him soundly. “We’ll let you cool down a moment, hm?”

Credence nodded, chasing after another kiss. “I want to…I want to fuck you.” He rasped, “So much, Perce.” And what he meant, more than the statement itself, was: ‘I want to feel you. I want to be closer than we’ve been before. So desperately, I want to be near you.’

Percival seemed to understand the unspoken plea. He sank onto the bed beside him, drew him near and kissed him again, far gentler. He reached somewhere behind him, back clicking with the movement, which made him huff an embarrassed laugh. He turned back around, looking quite embarrassed too, which Credence simply couldn’t have. Credence had his mouth on Percival’s before he could even think to question what he’d been doing. 

Percival laughed softly into the kiss and pulled away. “Would you like to put your fingers in me, Credence?” he asked, pressing a bottle to Credence’s hand. 

The thought made Credence dizzy and how quickly he nodded yes made him dizzier. This was happening. Really happening. He grinned giddily and kissed Percival again, bubbling with enthusiasm. He could hardly believe that this was his life. That he was here in Percival’s bed. 

“I’ve done it to myself.” He said softly, kneeling between Percival’s legs, “But…well, this is a little different—” he pushed his hair back from his face and smiled nervously, “Make sure to tell me if you want me to do something different?” 

Percival pushed himself up enough to press a soft kiss to Credence’s forehead, “You’ll do fine. I’ll let you know how I’m feeling.” He promised softly. He shifted, pillows beneath his hips, and dropped easily back down onto the bed, “Touch me, Credence.”

Who was Credence to deny such a request? 

He mimicked what Percival had done to him, at first. He lifted Percival’s legs a bit, watching his face for any discomfort before lowering himself a bit. He pressed hesitantly soft, open-mouthed kisses to the insides of Percival’s knees. He kissed his thighs, unable to resist sucking a little at a soft pleased noise from Percival. That earned him a low groan. He felt Percival shiver, could hear the catch of breath. So naturally, he did it again, harder, teasing his teeth against Percival’s inner thigh. 

Percival moaned, low and breathy, “Credence.” His fingers gently pressed through Credence’s hair, encouraging, a moment, before he pulled a little. Credence easily went where he was pulled, dropping a kiss or two against Percival’s chest before getting drawn into a kiss with the man himself.

“That feels quite nice.” Percival breathed against his mouth, sounding a little ragged, “But I fear I’m a little impatient to feel you—” he kissed Credence again, “If you’re…not opposed…?” 

Credence nodded vigorously and kissed Percival again, “We can…we can do it slower next time?” he asked, looking up at him, the question heavy.

Percival beamed, “Next time.” He agreed. Credence could have melted with relief. Percival sat up a little and took Credence’s hand in his own, pouring lubricant into his palm, dragging it up over his fingers, stroking them a few times. Credence dropped his head onto Percy’s shoulder and whined at the pseudo hand job. Percival huffed a laugh and moved Credence’s hand down between his legs.

“Okay?” He asked, voice gravelly. Credence nodded quickly, nuzzled Percival’s shoulder and neck a moment longer before sitting back on his heels. He didn’t know if he was more nerves or excited as he pressed his fingertip light against Percival’s entrance. His hand was shaking a little and he forced himself steady with a long breath. He’d done this for himself. He knew what to do.

But this was Percival and it felt like so much _more_. He looked up at Percival’s face, met his eyes. Percival gazed at him fondly, not looking annoyed or impatient with Credence for not getting on with it. Credence swallowed and when Percy smiled at him, he smiled back and eased a finger into the man. 

Credence stared at his finger, pressed easily to his knuckles inside of Percival. The skin around it red and shiny from the oily lubricant on his hands. The heat of him around Credence’s finger was dizzying. This was happening. He was truly here, his finger pressed into his professor. He drew his eyes higher, admiring the man’s cock. It rested heavy against his stomach, red and drooling. It made Credence’s mouth water, made him dizzy with desire. He definitely wanted to feel it at some point. Wanted to have it in his mouth. He wanted everything of Percival so bad. He curled his finger a little, twisted it, testing.

He looked back up at Percival’s face at last. Percival’s head had fallen back onto the pillows, his dark eyelashes fluttered before he shut his eyes. His jaw was slack, a tremor rolled through him. His skin on his neck was reddened from Credence’s affection, and a flush was creeping down his chest. Credence didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful.

Only when Percival tilted his head up and looked at him, did Credence realize he’d said so aloud. Percival smiled, looking rather embarrassed. Credence ducked his head and pressed his nose against Percival’s knee and bit lightly at him. He pressed in a second finger in before the man could say anything about what he’d said. 

Percival moaned. Credence felt him tighten against his fingers. The thought of the tight heat against his cock instead of his fingers alone might’ve had the ability to make Credence cum untouched if he wasn’t so set on feeling it for real. He kept his hand still and looked up at Percival again, watched his throat move as he swallowed, trying to catch his breath. He seemed so sensitive; Credence wondered when he’d last done this. He was so affected by it. Credence wondered if he would be as well, and realized quickly that, if their positions were switched, having Percival between his legs…that alone would make him shake apart just from two fingers, too. 

He smiled at the realization, and rested his cheek on Percival’s bent knee, stroking his thigh affectionately with his free hand. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be here. He hadn’t prayed in years, but some part of him wanted to, just to say ‘thank you’ to whatever deity had deigned him worthy to be here. 

“Let me know when you’re okay for me to move them.” He said softly.

Percival reached down and took Credence’s hand from his thigh, squeezed it softly. His palm was sweaty. Credence smiled and looked from their entwined hands up at Percival who met his gaze, expression hazy.

“You can move them,” Percival rasped, shifting his hips, pressing down against Credence’s hand. “I want you in me, Credence.” His voice was thick with desperation and had Credence shaking. He curled his fingers inside of Percival and the man let out a low drawn-out moan, stomach tight. Credence moved a bit quicker, pressing his fingers in only to pull them out quickly, curling and scissoring them. He wanted to be in Percival too. Quite desperately. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but God, just a moment of the tight heat. A moment of being one—he wanted.

With Percival’s grunt of approval, Credence had a third finger pressed into the man, shaking as he moved his hand, spreading his fingers a little, worried of hurting Percival in his eagerness. He wanted to try his best to be thorough. 

“I’m ready for you.” Percival grit out. Credence had a feeling he’d wanted to say that from finger one and would say it regardless of how ready he was. He swallowed hard and twisted his fingers. Percival keened. “Credence—fuck, please. I want to feel you before I—” Credence looked to Percival’s cock, oozing slick onto his stomach, dripping down his side and dampening the sheets beneath them. 

He removed his fingers, finally and stroked himself, whole body shaking from the feeling of his own hand. More lube, as gingerly as possible. He was far too close. 

Percival pulled him close, ankles hooking behind Credence’s thighs. They were kissing, wet and desperate, more an exchange of panted breaths than a kiss at all. Percival’s hand was over his, lining him up, and Percival was pulling him closer, panting harder against his mouth. Credence felt like he was floating, like cotton had settled over his head and was muting everything. His only point of focus was Percival beneath him. The heavy breaths against his mouth. The tight heat and slow press into the man, almost entirely led by him. 

Credence didn’t think he could ever move again. He wanted to stay right here forever, hips pressed against Percival’s ass, held inside the tight heat of him, hands in his hair and mouths together. He thought that if there was a heaven, this was it. There was nothing but this. Nothing but Percival, rasping nonsense against his mouth. Nothing but Percival’s hands on his face, in his hair. Nothing. 

He realized that he was crying when Percival pulled back from the kiss, expression one of concern. Thumbs against his cheeks brushing away tears. “Are you okay?” He could hardly hear the question, but he knew. He thought, he must always have known. Percival.

Credence nodded, his mouth curving into a smile. “Perfect.” He whispered. “I’m perfect, Percy.” He followed after his mouth and kissed Percival again, instinctively grinding his hips. Percival’s breathy comment of relieved worry was cut off with a shuddery groan.

“Do you want to move?” He whispered.

Credence did. Arms shaking, hardly able to hold himself up, Credence pulled out, rocking back in. He could have sworn he saw fireworks. He didn’t last long, coming with a moan and near collapsing on Percival as his elbows gave out, body taut as he shuddered through his orgasm.

Credence felt Percival move his hand lower. He hid his face against Percival’s neck as he took hold of the man. Their hands were linked and stroking together, Credence softening inside of him. He heard Percival moan, felt every tremble of it. Whined as Percy tightened on him. And then he was loose, breathing hard, holding to Credence.

They were sticky, but Credence couldn’t find it in him to care in the slightest. He found Percival’s mouth, lazy messy kisses. Everything was hazy. He felt so warm, so safe in Percival’s embrace. He barely registered being lifted and carried into the bathroom. It only mattered that he was with Percival. 

Hot water roused him from the cloudiness. He was in Percival’s lap on the shower floor, he could feel Percival’s fingers in his hair, the smell of Percival’s soap. He wanted to stay here forever.

“Thank you.” He breathed, voice raw and scratchy.

Percival kissed his shoulder. “Thank you, Credence.” He responded, barely audible over the sound of the water against the tile.

Credence shifted, turning in Percival’s lap so they were facing each other. He kissed him. “We can really do it again sometime?” Percival huffed against his mouth. Credence could feel him smiling when he kissed him again.

“Yes, absolutely.”


End file.
